


For The Way

by sunryder



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Betazed, Community: ksbigbang, M/M, Shore Leave, drunk!Spock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-18 06:23:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/876633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunryder/pseuds/sunryder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Uhura broke up with Spock on a Tuesday. Yes, this was the reason Jim was in a Betazoid prison on Friday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For The Way

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't have done this without the beautiful [kamicom](http://kamicom.livejournal.com) who has been everything I could've asked for in an author. I'm so happy she chose to work with me and that she's been so supportive. Go [HERE](http://kamicom.livejournal.com/5285.html) and make the biggest fuss over her artwork, it's stunning!
> 
> ETA: The story has been podficced [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11511606) by the lovely Carpe_History.

_I got my ticket for the long way round._

_Two bottle whiskey for the way._

_And I sure would like some sweet company,_

_I'm leaving tomorrow, whada say?_

  
_"_ Cups" - Anna Kendrick

 

* * *

 

“So…” Jim let the interjection hang there in the persistent silence. The singular word wasn’t enough to cut through the expectancy that clung to his mind like honey, but Jim wasn’t one to be forced into speaking before he had a plan to explain himself without actually admitting to anything incriminating.

 

“Perhaps, Captain, you should begin at the beginning.” The woman’s voice echoed around the blackened edge of the room, spinning in circles, bouncing off the tilted walls, and preventing him from knowing where she or her two fellow judges were standing.

 

Jim had aced his engineering classes and spent more than one night listening to Scotty wax lyrical about the _Enterprise’s_ systems, but that didn’t mean he understood the acoustics of the Betazed capital’s Chamber of Judgment. To Betazoids, the truest form of beauty was in asymmetry. Deceit could hide in a square room, some stronger wall carrying the weakness of it’s brother, while a curved line or a tilted wall had nothing but itself to rely on. The Chamber of Judgment was everything the Betazoids found beautiful in the world. The space was a strange mix of undulating ripples and jagged points that vaguely reminded Jim of an Iowa farmhouse after a twister. With the uneven lines Jim had expected the sound to fall flat and awkward, but it echoed perfectly, twisting around so sometimes Jim felt like the judges were whispering in his ear and other times the pressure of the noise nearly bowled him over. 

 

Despite the discomfort of not really knowing how to face his accusers, Jim plastered on his best devil-may-care grin and reminded himself that at least Spock wasn’t trying to get him expelled again. “Basically the whole thing started Tuesday night. Spock—you know Spock, he’s my Vulcan First Officer that you have down in lockup? Well, Spock got dumped by Uhura, who’s my Communications Officer. And I really hope you haven’t met her, because even though I’m pretty sure you guys have contacted both my ship and Starfleet about this whole thing, if she finds out I got in bar fight with her ex, there’s a very real possibility that she’s going to mutiny and leave me here.”

 

“Captain—” one of the other judges, a screeching, scolding soprano, tried to interrupt, but Jim rocked back on his heels like he was too innocently engrossed in telling the story to hear her.

 

“Of course, I wouldn’t care about Spock getting dumped if he and I weren’t friends, and strangely enough we actually met when he accused me of cheating on my final exam. Don’t worry,” Jim raised a hand to forestall commentary, “he dropped the charges. And technically I guess Spock and I never would’ve met if Chris Pike hadn’t talked me into joining Starfleet. And really, Chris never would’ve had a reason to do that if my Dad hadn’t died with the _Kelvin_ , so if you want me to begin at the _absolute_ beginning, I’m gonna need to go back a few decades.”

 

“This is neither the time nor the place for levity, Captain,” the soprano overrode. (Jim decided he was going to start calling her Bitchy.) “You are on trial for the battery of the First Son of the First House of Betazed. Considering that your precious Federation is trying to court our people into an alliance, mockery is not your best course of action.”

 

“Captain,” that first female interrupted. Jim could hear the smile in her soothing voice and stifled the urge to grin that at least one of his judges had a sense of humor. That would help.

 

“We have been well informed about the death of the _Kelvin,_ Starfleet apocrypha surrounding your decision to enter their ranks, and the various events that led to the destruction of Nero. The Betazed Assembly of Houses has also been fully briefed on the betrayal of Admiral Marcus and the confinement of Khan.” Jim gave no outward sign of his shock at that announcement, but he didn’t have to. Betazeds were telepaths, which meant that it was obvious how surprised Jim was at the level of disclosure Starfleet was willing to embrace for a planet that wasn’t yet officially part of the alliance.

 

The first woman (who Jim had dubbed Mercy) tittered at Jim’s reaction. “You will soon discover that there is no point in lying to us, Captain. We are the Judges of the Four Deities, so called and appointed because of our unparalleled gifts in the mental arts and our proven moral aptitude. Those gifts mean that each of us possesses the strength to reach into your mind and seize the information that we seek.”

 

Jim’s smile went stiff and he spread his arms wide. “Then why are you bothering with this if you already know what happened?”

 

 “We ask questions to focus your thoughts, to understand your interpretation of events, to know what it is you would wish to conceal.” He could tell Mercy was giving him that same bemused smile that Bones did when Jim was pretending he wasn’t injured. “Our own society has no concerns for privacy in the manner of other species, but ethics demand that we respect the sanctity of other minds. What you wish to conceal we will seek, but we will not take.”

Mercy paused, politely letting the inevitability of his situation sink in. “With all that in mind Captain, personally I would prefer it if you began with the most recent set of events from this Tuesday. I believe they will have the most bearing on our decision.”

 

“So, Tuesday then.” Jim puffed out a sigh and buried his hands in his pockets, wishing that he was facing down these judges in his uniform rather than the ripped jeans and stale, blood spattered t-shirt that they hadn’t given him the chance to change out of. “To be honest, all I really know about Tuesday is that sometime between the end of Alpha shift that afternoon and the start of Alpha shift on Wednesday morning, Uhura broke up with Spock.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Contrary to what they taught at the Academy, Vulcans were sneaky bastards.

 

James Kirk had ample amounts of evidence regarding Vulcan sneakiness in the form of his First Officer. A First who, at this moment, was trying to bail out of shore leave by time delaying a change in the staffing assignments so that if Jim asked, Spock could honestly say that he’d posted the change before Jim left the _Enterprise_ , but Jim still wouldn’t see that change before he was camping planetside and out of convenient comm range. Jim appreciated sneakiness as much as the next Captain who’d assumed his rank by emotionally compromising his superior officer, but that didn’t mean he liked Spock using the tactic against him.

 

All right… that was a lie, Jim loved it.

 

Days when Spock was in a mood were Jim’s favorite. They were the times when Spock bantered, and got smug about kicking the shit out of Jim at chess, and came up with that last essential detail that managed to make Jim’s hair-brained schemes actually work. Snarky Spock was Jim’s favorite version of the Vulcan; only now, Spock seemed to be turning that against Jim in new and unexpected ways.

 

Shore leave was five days, divided into a single twenty-four hour shift for each of the ship’shighest-ranking officers. Scotty always had the first day, giving him plenty of time to completely ignore the bridge and instead go over all the things he wanted to pick up for the _Enterprise’s_ engines. Spock always had day two, because everyone else got annoyed at having their shore leave broken up so soon (and because, more often than not, Uhura would comm Scotty to ask when he wanted Spock to return to the ship and the engineer would declare that he still had plenty he wanted to do to the engines and he was more than willing to stay in command if “the lass wanted to spend a wee bit more time with the Commander”). Chekov was assigned the third day, because he got twitchy when he was away from the _Enterprise_ for too long, and Sulu got the fourth day because he got twitchy when he spent too much time away from Chekov. Jim was assigned the fifth day, but like Spock, he usually didn’t end up having to take it.

 

So imagine Jim’s surprise when he saw the latest version of the schedule announcing that Spock was going to keep command of the _Enterprise_ through the whole of shore leave, not just a tentative second day.

 

Jim really did have to hand it to the Vulcan. The change was inputted to the system sometime in the middle of Gamma shift the night before, but Spock had adjusted the announcement to release after most of the crew had already left the ship. If Bones had been capable of getting out of bed before ten on a day he didn’t have to work, Jim would’ve missed the message too.

 

But he didn’t, and now he wanted to know why in the holy hell Spock wasn’t going on vacation. Especially to a planet that had made him tilt his head and murmur, “Fascinating,” at the thought of dealing with a wholly telepathic species rather than his fellow touch telepaths.

 

Jim strode down the hall to Spock’s quarters and didn’t bother with knocking. Around the third time Jim had hacked the increasingly complicated security measures Spock had integrated with the door’s programming, Spock had just granted Jim blanket access. (Except for the highest security lock, which Jim has always respected the sanctity of since he was pretty sure Spock only pulled it out when he was having sex.)  

 

Spock was in lotus position in the center of the room, a neat row of padds spread out and waiting for his attention on the hovering lap pad that Jim and Scotty had designed for him in their last fit of drunken engineering. Jim didn’t have to look to know that the two padds to Spock’s left were the ones he always handled first.

 

One was Jim’s Starfleet-issued spare, designed to hold pointless bureaucracy meant for Jim’s eyes-only. (Spock would read through them all and highlight the relevant passages of memos to prevent Jim from shouting at admirals.) The other padd was for Spock as XO, filled with all the day’s streamlined reports from various department heads. (If they rambled or leapt to conclusions unsubstantiated by the facts before him, Spock would lecture them all until they begged for a demotion to be spared the Eyebrow of Shame.) The padd before Spock was the one the Vulcan actually wanted to read: the Science department. He would read every report and every finding like Scotty poured over engines, then rip apart every last word and make his staff start all over again. (While Spock made the other department heads want to retire, he made the Science staff positively giddy at the attention.) The last lonely padd was personal, with various letters that Spock somehow managed to put off answering until the last possible moment of politeness.

 

Jim squared his hips and stared Spock down across the breadth of the room. “You changed the shift schedule.”

 

It took Spock several long moments to smooth out his expression, and that more than anything told Jim there was something wrong. He dropped to the ground cross-legged, unable to pull off lotus despite Spock’s best efforts to teach him. “What happened?”

 

Spock liked to pretend he didn’t use his height to his advantage when they disagreed, but now he slid to his feet. Before Spock had the chance to retort with something about Jim’s emotional response to non-existent data, Jim rushed out, “Shit Spock, you’re freaking me out. What’s wrong?”

 

There was the slightest clench of Spock’s jaw, with the lack of expression that wasn’t the smoothing of logical acceptance but instead the harsh erasure where both emotion and true logic were stuffed into a locked box in the back of Spock’s mind. It was the look Spock got when both trusting his instincts and the actual use of logic would lead him to do something that he plain old didn’t want to do.

 

“I am functioning at optimum efficiency.”

 

“Spock, you were functioning at 112% of ship median efficiency when you had the Bolian flu. You being efficient isn’t a good barometer of what’s going on.”

 

“At this moment the only thing occurring is your presence in my quarters when you were scheduled to be off ship.”

 

“Ah hah!” Jim popped up to his feet. “You set the whole thing up so I wouldn’t see the shift change.”

 

Spock adjusted his hands braced at the small of his back, his own quiet version of a fidget. “I arranged no such thing, Captain.”

 

“Spock.” Jim spread his hands wide. “I thought we were past lying about things that don’t really matter?”

 

“I am Vulcan, Captain. We do not lie.”

 

“Yeah, you keep saying that. But I bet that if I asked you what happened last night you’d find a particularly creative way to not lie and not answer all at the same time.”

 

“Whatever may or may not have occurred last night, Captain. I merely have no desire to attend shore leave at this juncture.”

 

“Okay, that means something definitely happened last night and it made you not want to leave the ship.”

 

“Captain—”

 

“And you haven’t called me by my name since I walked in the room, which means that you’re tempted to tell me because I’m your friend, so you’re putting distance between the two of us to stop yourself from confiding.” Jim flopped back on Spock’s pristine bed, putting his weight on his elbows, wriggling a bit in the process to rumple the bedspread. Jim liked to mess things up in Spock’s room every chance he got; make it a little dirty, a little wrinkled, a little mussed. He liked to think it was an accurate metaphor for his influence on Spock. (He’d also noticed that Spock had an exceptionally difficult time calling him Captain when he was sprawled over Spock’s furniture like they were still cadets at the Academy.)

 

This time Spock actually did sigh. It was inaudible, but Jim knew what that slight expansion of Spock’s rib cage meant. “ _Jim_ , it is a personal matter that requires no discussion at this present moment. I have no desire to interrupt your camping expedition with the rest of the Command crew and I would, in fact, prefer to spend my shore leave in meditation here on the _Enterprise_.”

 

Jim gave Spock a long look, taking in the nearly hunched line of his shoulders, the way he was looking at the door rather than at Jim, and the subtle strain around his eyes that meant he’d meditated last night but it hadn’t done him any good. “Shit. Uhura broke up with you?”

 

Spock started, his eyes widening a fraction before all the tension dripped out of his shoulders, the silent burden that they’d been carrying now shared. “I believe that the Federation would benefit from experimentation upon your person to determine the source of your ability to proceed from a place of no information to a statement of fact.”

 

Jim smiled, because Spock’s tone wasn’t one of irritation, it was bemused resignation, and Jim could work with that. “What happened?”

 

Spock resumed his seat, without the dejected slump that Jim would’ve donned. “Lieutenant Uhura expressed her belief that our romantic relationship has remained complicated despite the amount of time we have spent together. It is her viewpoint that emotional entanglements should grow more complex but less wearying with the passage of time, and ours has not. In summation, her complaint was that ‘it should not be this hard’. Given that she found the persistence of our romantic relationship tiresome, I chose to release her.”  

 

“How’d that go?”

 

“The cessation of our relationship was conducted with more decorum than I have been led to believe is common in these kinds of endeavors.”

 

“Uh-huh.” Since one party was doing the breaking up and the other party was Vulcan, Jim figured that was probably true. “That doesn’t tell me why you’re spending shore leave on the ship, though.”

 

“I had intended to spend my allotted time on Betazed in the company of Lieutenant Uhura. Given that this is no longer an option, I have chosen to spend my shore leave both focusing on my work and on meditation so that I may continue to function in an optimal manner.”

 

“Yeah, no. You don’t get over a breakup by spending your shore leave pining.”

 

Spock tried to reply, “That is an inaccurate summary of my current state of well-being, Jim.” But Jim just spoke right over the top of him.

 

“Nope.” Jim popped up off the bed. “You’re not spending leave hanging out in your lab, you’re coming down to Betazed with me and Bones.”

 

Jim started for the door while Spock was still piecing together what he had heard—against the intense statistical unlikelihood that Jim had actually said it. Jim was halfway out before Spock retorted, “Given that a significant portion of the people slated to accompany you on your scheduled camping expedition are also friends with Lieutenant Uhura, I can only presume that they intend to avail themselves of her company as well.” Jim stopped and twisted on his heel back to Spock. “I have no desire to participate in the human activity of camping, and my distaste for the activity only increases at the thought of doing so surrounded by beings who are acquainted with both the Lieutenant and myself and are aware of the circumstances of the cessation of our relationship.”

 

Jim remembered a time when he actually would’ve had to think for a moment before his brain translated Spock’s characteristic understatement to, “Jim, I would rather chew my own eyeballs than hang out with people who think Uhura should’ve dumped me years ago because I’m an emotionless alien.”

 

“Spock,” Jim chided. “You don’t go camping after a breakup, you get _drunk_ after a breakup.” Spock’s eyes widened in the closest expression to absolute horror that a Vulcan could achieve, but before he could object, Jim bounced out the door.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Given that everyone who wasn’t on duty right now—so, Spock for about three more minutes until the Ensigns who’d been running the gambling ring found out that their confinement to the ship for shore leave meant that they were now in charge of the ship for shore leave—was either already down on the planet or was packing last minute essentials, Jim figured Bones would be in sickbay. The doctor didn’t have any patients, but he liked to lecture whoever was on medical duty for the day to comm him if _anything_ happened. Anything included: stubbed toes, paper cuts, hangovers, and whatever he could do to get out of spending his shore leave camping with people who intended to do more with their time outdoors than drink and fish.

 

Jim burst into sickbay and grabbed Bones by the bicep, giving the grateful medic a cheerful smile while he pulled Bones towards his office. “What the hell, Jim?”

 

“We’re going drinking, Bones.”

 

McCoy came to a dead stop, and despite Jim’s musculature, Bones’s superior mass pulled the boy to a dead stop. “What do you mean? We were going camping!”

 

“Not anymore.”

 

“Everybody, or—”

 

“You and me are taking Spock drinking. Sulu and Chekov seemed pretty stoked about camping, so I don’t know if they’ll want to bail and come with us, but I bet Scotty will.”

 

Bones stared at Jim, years of friendship still not enough to brace him for Jim’s sudden shifts. Jim looked ready to explain all, not quite thinking about the fact that they were still in the wide open space of sickbay with at least one medic and two nurses busy pretending that they weren’t eavesdropping. Bones shoved one steady hand into Jim’s chest and pushed him through the open office door. “Why in the hell are we taking the pointy-eared hobgoblin out drinking? And what makes you think he’ll even want to go!”

 

“Uhura dumped him.”

 

“Well… shit.” Bones dropped to his chair, leaving Jim to perch on the edge of the desk where he looked like he was about to vibrate out of his skin. Next to alcohol, the surest way to Bones’s heart was to tell him that someone else had been dumped.

 

“Exactly. He was going to spend his shore leave on the _ship_ , Bones. ”

 

“As shitty an idea as that sounds for you and me, Jim, maybe that’s what works for a Vulcan. Maybe Spock just wants to run some experiments and avoid illogical humans.”

 

“This isn’t about what he wants, this is about what he needs.”

 

“And how is it you know what a man needs when he gets out of a serious relationship, Jimmy?”

 

“I got you through just fine, didn’t I?”

 

“Jimmy. You aren’t actually be making a case that Spock and I are the same person, are you?”

 

“No, I’m just saying, how would you feel if you broke up with your girlfriend and all your friends basically said, ‘Oh, that sucks. Excuse us, we’re going to leave you here alone and go hang out with your ex and all her friends.’” Jim let that hang, and when Bones didn’t give him the response he was looking for, continued, “We’ll leave you behind for your _human_ ex and her _human_ friends. Because who would be worried about a _Vulcan_ —”

 

“Alright, Jim, alright! I get your point.” Bones slumped back in his chair, dropping back against the headrest. “But there are two problems with your plan, kid.”

 

“And what are those?”

 

“One: Spock isn’t going to want to spend the next five days drinking, and two,” Bones continued over Jim’s objections that of course they weren’t going to drink away the whole shore leave. “Two: there are certain parties on this ship who are going to be pissed when they find out you’re bailing out of this little camping trip of theirs.”

 

That actually pulled Jim to a stop. “What are you talking about, Bones?”

 

McCoy gave Jim an expectant look, like he was waiting for Jim to catch up. When Jim just kept staring, Bones grumbled, “I cannot believe you get laid as often as you do. Do women just take off their clothes and climb into your lap?”

 

“What does that—”

 

“Carol, Jim, _Carol_! Or did you really not notice that the girl arranged this whole damn camping shindig so she could get a shot at you?” Jim looked legitimately dumbfounded. Bones reached for the scotch, groaning, “Don’t they keep telling me you’re some kind of tactical genius?”

 

Jim blinked. “Bones, I don’t sleep with people under my command.”

 

“I know that, Jim. But that doesn’t mean that people don’t make it their goal to strike up a relationship with you.”

 

“But Bones, I don’t, I mean…”

 

McCoy cuffed Jim upside the head, letting his hand hover there just long enough to actually stroke his hair. “Jim, she introduced herself by setting herself up as the blonde and leggy alternative to Spock. What did you think she was trying to do?”

 

“But, I would never, well, obviously not _never_. I mean, if she wasn’t on my crew I’d go after Carol in a heartbeat, but—she’s not even a command officer! She’s one of Spock’s department heads! That would be like sleeping with Keenser!”

 

Bones shuddered. “Jimmy, you and I both know sex with Carol and sex with Keenser is not the same thing.” He took a quick gulp of the alcohol and turned back to Jim. “Like dealing with my divorce and dealing with Spock’s breakup isn’t the same thing.”

 

Jim ignored that, like he ignored most logic. “What was the plan? Why go to all the trouble of setting up a camping trip? There are better ways to proposition me!”

 

“I think everybody in the Federation knows that, Jimmy,” Bones snorted. “The girl doesn’t want to get laid, she wants a relationship. The camping trip was to put you in a situation where you’d be comfortable giving in to that crush you think you’re hiding.”

 

“What do you want from me, Bones? She’s hot!”

 

“I know that, Jim. I ain’t blind.”

 

“That still doesn’t explain why she’s wants to go _camping_. It’s not exactly the Federation’s sexiest activity, you know?”

 

Bones finished his glass then topped it up again before he settled back into his chair. “You’ll be surrounded by Command officers who would die for you, and most of who not so secretly think that what you really need is a stable relationship. All of you out in the wild, no cameras, no computers, no witnesses. Any paranoia you have about being reported to the Admiralty for an inappropriate relationship won’t be there weighing on your mind. I’d even bet that the women have got it all arranged that it’ll be the best and most convenient thing for you to share a tent with Carol, and if it’s not, then by the second night somebody will develop a snoring problem, or desperately need to sleep with me in my tent.”

 

“That’s actually… pretty ingenious.”

 

“When I heard the nurses gossiping about it I laughed pretty hard at how well they know you.”

 

“Why in the hell are you telling me this, Bones?” Jim groaned.

 

“Because if you’d like to make yourself a relationship with that pretty little blonde whose thighs you’ve been staring at since the first moment she had the guts to interrupt Spock, maybe you ought to leave Spock to handle his breakup his own way.”

 

Jim started to shake his head “no” before Bones even got out the thought. “Spock needs us, Bones. I won’t leave him high and dry so I can get laid.”

 

McCoy gave Jim a very long look over the top of his tumbler. Amongst his gifts as a surgeon was the rare and valuable skill of Jim-watching. He was giving Jim the same look that he’d given the younger man when he said that he wanted to take the Kobiashi Maru for a third time, and when he’d asked the Admiralty to give him Spock for a First Officer. The look meant there was something there that Jim didn’t see about himself, and Bones was deciding whether or not to shut him down. (Like how he’d wrestled Jim back into the dorm room when he said he was dropping out of school freshman year.)

 

Jim knew better than to interrupt McCoy when he was mulling. After a ponderous moment the doctor murmured, “I think you and Carol might be happy, Jim. She’s smart, she won’t take your shit, and for reasons that I will never understand, she seems to think that you’re charming. You could have a real relationship, kid.”

 

Jim just shrugged. “It’s Spock.”

 

“It’s always gonna come down to that, isn’t it?” Bones knocked back the rest of his drink, and before Jim could ask what he was talking about, Bones continued, “Guess I should put away my fishing pole, then.”

 

Whatever might have come next was interrupted by Spock’s arrival at the office door. “Spock!” Jim demanded in exasperation, “Why aren’t you packed?”

 

“Captain—”

 

“Jim.”

 

“ _Jim_ , your efforts to induce me to participate in Human male sociocultural rituals are unnecessary.”

 

“No, Spock, it’s completely logical.”

 

Jim knew his audience well. There were few things that drew Spock in like Jim claiming that his hair-brained scheme of the day was logical. Most of the time Spock’s eyebrow would creep higher and higher up his forehead while he listened in disbelief that Jim could possibly believe that his argument was anything resembling sensical. Of course, by the time Spock was done pointing out all the fallacies in the plan, he would’ve inadvertently steered Jim towards something slightly more insane but which managed to have a much higher likelihood of success. Spock held true to that pattern, and raised his eyebrow to demand, “How?”

 

“Don’t ask him that,” Bones groaned. “Once you let him start talking then the Stockholm Syndrome sets in and suddenly everything he says sounds like it makes _sense_ , and next thing you know you’re sneaking him onto a starship and he’s your captain.”

 

“Given that the conclusion of that situation was the preservation of all our lives and the continued existence of Earth, there is a flaw in your logic, Doctor.”

 

Bones flopped back into his chair. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

 

Jim grinned with the gleam of a man who had already won. That, more than anything, gave Spock pause. “So, you want to stay on the _Enterprise_ to meditate because you are experiencing a sense of loss about your breakup with, Uhura, right?”

 

Spock raised an eyebrow and replied, “Yes.” Jim only used the correct terminology regarding Vulcan emotional states when he was certain the logic of his argument was irrefutable.

 

“Experiencing a sense of loss over someone who doesn’t want to be with you is illogical, right?” Spock stiffened, as he always did, at the accusation that his logic was flawed. Jim held up both his hands in a placating gesture and rapidly continued, “If it’s not the Vulcan thing to do, that means it’s the Human thing to do, doesn’t it?”

 

“Your logic presumes a binary state that is inaccurate.”

 

“It’s not though. I can testify that being upset after a breakup is totally the Human thing to do, and you can testify that it’s not the Vulcan thing to do, which means that the part of you that’s upset over your breakup is the Human part.”

 

“I fail to see the relevance.”

 

“The _relevance_ is that it’s inefficient to make a Human feel better with Vulcan methods, you need to use Human methods.”

 

“Human. Methods.” Spock replied dubiously.

 

“Human methods.” Jim affirmed. “That means we’re going to screw camping, and screw women, and you are going to spend your shore leave with me and Bones participating in Human male sociocultural rituals.”

 

“And by me and Jim,” Bones interrupted, “what he means is me, Jim, Sulu, Chekov, and Scotty.” Both the Vulcan and Human turned to McCoy to see him answering several comm messages. “Apparently my staff heard you announce that we weren’t going camping anymore and spread the word through the ship like wildfire. Scotty was never going camping in the first place and he’s thrilled we’ve ‘decided to come to our senses,’ and Chekov sent me a pleading note in Russian that Sulu had to translate where he begged me not to make the both of them go camping if it was no longer a ‘Command bonding experience’.”

 

“A Command what now?”

 

Bones just rolled his eyes and clicked off the comm, muttering about how Jim could be such a genius and such an idiot all at the same time. “Come on boys, grab your gear, the kids are waiting for us at the transporter pad.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sulu, apparently, had spent the last two weeks pining away at the thought that he had to go camping when all he wanted was to surf on the Opal Sea. Since Sulu getting dragged into this was apparently Jim’s fault for reasons he couldn’t quite understand, Jim had Sulu direct them to the best hotel that his secret, forlorn research had told him about. Jim had thought that between his hazard pay, Chekov’s sad puppy eyes, Bones’s preference for the liquor at high class establishments, and a plush bank account that Spock never talked about but Jim knew he had, they would be able to get a decent suite for the six of them to share. Fate, however, seemed to be kind, and the Betazoid working the front desk took a shine to Jim and his smile and set them up at a private cabana right on the beach.

 

Sulu took just enough of a look around the cabana to figure out where he would be rooming with Chekov, then started stripping down in clear sight of everyone else on his way to the bathroom. (You could take the boy all the way to Betazed, but you couldn’t take the California out of the boy.) The moment he’d figured out that complementary surfboards came with the suite, Sulu knew what he was going to spend the rest of his shore leave doing.

 

Since they didn’t get settled on planet until afternoon, the group decided to spend the rest of their first day swimming and learning to surf. Scotty and Bones had rolled their eyes, but still put on shorts. They slathered on the sunscreen and stretched out in lounge chairs where they kept ordering drinks with little umbrellas in them. Jim had happily turned Chekov over to Sulu’s tender mercies when the boy stepped onto the beach in khakis, a long shirt, a floppy, oversized hat, and a streak of white sunscreen spread down his nose. Spock—despite completely forgetting to pack a swimming suit—was willing to borrow some trunks from Sulu and learn.

 

Jim gave Spock a few minutes of instruction on the surfing he’d done in his dissolute youth, then, of course, Spock popped right up and looked like he’d been surfing his whole life. Jim might’ve gaped a little bit. But it was difficult not to be blown away by a child from a desert world cutting through the water like he belonged there.

 

Bones caught Jim staring, and automatically assumed that Jim was checking out his First Officer. Jim replied by wrestling Bones out of his seat and dragging him into the water. It was the best Jim could do, since denying that he’d been admiring more than just Spock’s form would’ve been a bit of a lie. (Jim was not dead, thank you very much, and that was the only reason he noticed that his Vulcan was a little bit thinner than Sulu. The bright red board shorts barely clung to Spock’s waist, casually revealing his narrow hip bones and leading to the tempting thought that one swift tug would pull them right off.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jim woke up the next morning to thigh muscles that were sore in a way they hadn’t been in a long time. Jim pointedly kept his mind off any other activities that he could’ve been doing in this pretty little cabana that might’ve made his thighs ache quite like this. He was half hard, the same way he was every morning when he didn’t wake up to the klaxon of a red alert. The thought of Spock in the next room was simultaneously arousing and erection killing. (Cabana walls were not enough to hold back Vulcan hearing.) Jim rolled out of bed and stumbled his way towards the bathroom where he could handle his problem as quietly as possible, only to get distracted in the suite’s living room.

 

Three of the cabana’s four rooms shared a single bathroom. Judging by the lack of Russian, Jim assumed that Sulu and Chekov were already out surfing, which meant he was free and clear to use the facilities that Bones had forced the younger men into sharing. However, to get to that bathroom, Jim had to pass through the living room. The double set of doors that kept the main room blocked off from the elements were slid wide open, revealing Spock resting in the lotus position on the sand just outside.

 

Spock was meditating, which was the perfect time for a quiet bit of personal pleasure, but then the morning breeze caught Spock’s hair and Jim couldn’t quite remember why he wanted to be anyplace else. Spock looked rumpled and sleep warm, his skin flushed a gentle green from the heat of the morning sun. The cool breeze danced around him, carrying with it the sharp smell of the ocean, ruffling Spock’s hair in patterns that he never would’ve endured if he were paying attention.

 

Jim settled lightly down next to Spock, careful not to disturb his meditation. Jim buried his feet in the sand, digging past the warm upper layer and reaching down to the still cool shore underneath. He wrapped his arms around his knees and closed his eyes to feel the sun on his face.

 

Jim couldn’t have said how long he sat there listening to the waves roll in, Spock’s steady presence beside him. But soon enough Spock spoke, “There is a kind of meditation that is best carried out in the desert. The being is encouraged to focus on the vastness of the sand surrounding them, to put their present struggles in the context of a larger situation.” Spock paused. “I was often encouraged to utilize this technique.”

 

Chin still resting on his arms, Jim turned to Spock. The Vulcan’s eyes were closed, so Jim held his piece, waiting for the further explanation he knew was coming. “Without the sands of Vulcan to be my object of focus I had anticipated that I would never again participate in this particular form of meditation. However, I find, that despite the change in location I believe this meditation to fulfill the same purpose for which it was designed.”

 

Spock drew the last, deep, measured breath of his meditative state and slowly opened his eyes. “In truth, it reminds me that even though the sands that were much greater than the problems of my youth are now gone, there is still sand to be counted. Still worlds left to explore, that might, in fact, bring peace and pleasure that are incalculable compared to the sands of the sea, rather than the pain that the grains once implied.”

 

“We’ve got corn in Iowa. I used to hop on my bike and just ride down the rows until I wasn’t angry anymore.”

 

Spock turned to Jim, his brown eyes always curious. “And now?”

 

“Now? I drink with Bones, and I play chess with you, and I roam around the engines with Scotty, and I tease Chekov until he starts sputtering in Russian.” Jim just shrugged when Spock raised an eyebrow like that wasn’t a satisfactory answer. “I’m happy now. I’ve got almost everything I ever wanted. It’s tough to miss the solitude of a cornfield when you’re the captain of a starship.”

 

“Almost everything?”

 

“Well, you know…” Jim licked his lips, struggling to find the way to explain that he was beginning to think that someday he might like to have someone to come home to. He wasn’t quite lonely, but he wasn’t quite complete either. But before he could sort through those uncomfortable feeling words that might make Spock leave it alone, Spock watched him lick his lips.

 

The Vulcan blinked and looked back to the ocean, but that didn’t make his ears any less green.

 

Jim’s lips parted, his poor brain struggling to make sense of a whole new problem this time.

 

It was Spock _._ Spock had gone from rival to nemesis to best friend in a bafflingly short amount of time, but he was still _Spock._ Not to be touched, not to be tempted, not to be fantasized about whenever Spock trounced him at chess (which was half the time), or daydreamed about whenever shipkeeping got particularly snarky and gave Spock a uniform one size too small. It was sweet, brilliant, genuine, loyal, Spock.

 

The rational part of Jim’s brain repeated to him all the ways that Spock was irreplaceable and not at all to be trifled with, while the intuitive part of Jim’s brain put his hand in the sand behind Spock’s back and shifted his weight to catch Spock in a kiss.

 

“Keptin! Zere you are!” Jim sprang back from Spock like, well, like he’d been caught doing exactly what he’d just been caught doing. “Hikaru vould not let me vake you to come vith us to do the surfing. But you would like to, _da_?”

 

Sulu stood three paces behind the Russian, surfboard dropped to his side like he was too baffled to move. Jim gave Chekov the tight grin that Bones liked to call his “cockblocked grimace.” “Actually, I think I’d like some breakfast first.”

 

“Yeah kid,” Bones announced from the doorway behind him, “you look hungry.”

 

“Oh aye,” Scotty added, smirking beside Bones. “If anything I’d say ya look starving. Maybe even ravenous, or yearning—”

 

“You made your point.” Jim snapped.

 

“No lad,” Scotty grinned, unable to let the opportunity pass for teasing. “I think you definitely want to be stuffed.”

 

Jim leapt to his feet and caught Scotty in a flying tackle, knocking the innuendo-loving engineer off his feet while Spock looked back and forth between the Humans like they were strange creatures.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Come on, Spock!”

 

“Jim, to what location are we going?”

 

“It’s a _surprise_ , Spock,” Jim repeated for at least the fifth time.

 

“I am aware of your intention to ‘surprise me’, Jim. However, that does not negate my desire to know the location of this surprise.”

 

“Knowing that takes away all the fun of the surprise, Spock.”

 

“I find that I am less concerned with the preservation of your surprise and more concerned with what you consider to be an adequate activity.”

 

“Still not telling you.”

 

“Captain—”

 

“Don’t ‘Captain’ me, Spock. We’ll get there when we get there.” Spock braced his hands behind his back, not as irritated as he would’ve been even a week ago. Despite every logical argument to the contrary, Spock appeared to be enjoying himself. Normally he would only tolerate teasing for a few sparse minutes. But today, Jim had been poking at Spock the entire walk through the city and the Vulcan had been accepting. Of course, Jim was no idiot, and about thirty seconds after he laid down the law with Spock, they stepped around the corner and into the plaza laid out before their destination.

 

“Hey, look.” Jim smirked. “We’re here.”

 

Spock wasn’t a big reaction kind of guy, but the lack of eyebrow meant that he was pleased. “Commander Spock, allow me to present the High Temple of Rixx, the Betazoid goddess of Empathy.” The building was sleek, done in some shimmering white stone that Jim wouldn’t be able to identify without his tricorder. Like most matriarchal societies, the Betazed had a thing for curves, which—combined with their fondness for asymmetry—explained the building’s shape. It was built in oblong layers, one after another rising up into a strange arched mountain reaching for the sky.

 

“It is an impressive building, but—”

 

Jim smacked Spock on the shoulder. “The building is open to the public, Spock. They give tours and let people come in to do their meditation in one of their special rooms.” Jim all but bounded the next few steps towards the building, pulling Spock along with his excitement. “Apparently Betazoids like to have a bunch of different methods for meditation, so they’ve got one that’s supposed to simulate the beach, another that’s the mountains, some that are just straight up darkness, and underwater, and gardens, and some like the standard silence and incense that you’re so fond of.”

 

Jim rambled about everything the travel brochure had taught him about Betazoid spiritualism, from their different gods based on different aspects of emotions, to the strange ranking system for religious leaders based on age, experience, and sheer telepathic skill. Spock listened just as intently as he always did when Jim gave the mission briefing.

 

The two were so engrossed in Jim’s excited recounting of everything he’d learned from their hotel’s concierge that neither of them noticed that they were being followed until a young woman actually giggled at Spock’s causal avoidance of Jim’s emphatically gesturing hands. Both Jim and Spock stopped, Jim with his polite ‘sure I’ll take a holo with you, adoring citizen’ smile, and Spock with the deadpan expression that meant he expected to have to endure several minutes of watching Jim flirt before they could get back to the task at hand.

 

Rather than acknowledge either of their impressions, the woman dipped into a brief bow and smiled, “I am Emorra, I am to be your guide through the temple today.”

 

“Guide? Were we supposed to have a guide? The guy at the hotel said you were open to the public.”

 

“We are open to the public, Captain. However, initiates are charged with spending some of every day within the front atrium so that when they sense the entrance of one who has never before come to the temple, or is uncomfortable at the temple, then they may guide their companions through the building and help answer all their questions.”

 

“Oh, so you could sense that this was our first time?”

 

Emorra opened her mouth to answer, but paused and turned to Spock with a furrowed brow. “I was under the impression that it was impolite to speak telepathically in front of one who is unable to do so.”

 

“I made my response mentally available to you, but that does not mean that Captain Kirk has been excluded from understanding.”

 

Emorra turned to Jim in surprise, obviously expecting that Spock would’ve somehow projected his disbelief that a guide just happened to be waiting for them. Since Jim was the one playing translator to Spock’s better senses, he replied, “Spock thinks it’s bullshit.”

 

“What does male bovine excrement have to do with the Commander’s disbelief?”

 

“It is in your best interests to refrain from enquiring as to the motivation behind Earth idioms. I have never been satisfied at the conclusion of the questioning.”

 

Jim focused on the smell of cow manure on a July afternoon, and Emorra puckered her nose. “Yes, I can understand why. Despite that disturbing image, our novices do attend to those who have never before entered the Temple of Rixx.”

 

Spock didn’t need to speak and didn’t need to project to make the demand of his eyebrow perfectly clear. “However, you are correct that I was specially summoned to walk with the both of you. I am uniquely talented in the field of mental shielding, a task which we believe necessary for you presence here.”

 

“You believe my own mental shields insufficient to the task?”

 

“No Commander,” Emorra flinched at the emotional lockdown coming from Spock. “However, protecting your mind does not protect the Captain, and you must admit that his mind is dynamic in a way that few others are.”

 

The tips of Spock’s ears took on that green tint that Jim usually had to work for an hour to pull out. Before Jim could demand to know what about that was so embarrassing, Spock gave an abrupt nod. “Your consideration on this subject is appreciated. You may proceed with the tour.”

 

“Hold up, what consideration?”

 

“She will shield your mind from unwanted observers, Captain.”

 

“Unwanted observers?”

 

Emorra waited a moment for Spock to explain, but judging by the state of his ears that would be a long time coming, so Jim turned his attention to her. The Betazoid looked horribly confused at whatever reasoning she was sensing from Spock, but she still explained. “Betazoids are much more free with their thoughts than non-telepathic species, Captain. Under normal circumstances those of my people who come across you would take extra care to respect the sanctity and privacy of your mind, but your mental presence is vibrant to the point that even I am having trouble keeping my thoughts to myself.”

 

“So basically you’re here to keep me from getting mentally felt up?”

 

“It is slightly more complicated than that, Captain,” Spock added with a sub-audible sigh.

 

“Spock, if we’re going to talk about me getting molested you’ve really gotta use my name.” Spock… had no response to that. He turned on his heel and started walking down the temple’s main hall, Jim and Emorra scrambling to keep up.

 

The building was as beautiful as the concierge had said, and Jim could tell from the way Spock’s eyebrow kept getting higher and higher that he was fascinated. The main floor of the temple housed various offices and meeting rooms, but four massive meditation rooms took up the main body of the space. Each of them held a complete environment, representing the four types of land that surrounded their capital city. (According to Emorra, people were always more comfortable meditating in an environment like home, and the rooms were designed to provide the people who had migrated to the capital with something as close to home as they could get.)

 

The upper floors were progressively shorter, and filled with every kind of meditation that a person could want. Spock and Emorra had a long conversation about their people’s differing approaches to meditation, including a whole lot that went unsaid about why Vulcan’s constrained violent impulses were part of the reason they didn’t find combat training to be particularly meditative.

 

Jim suspected that their tour through that particular branch of the building hadn’t gone unnoticed since Emorra had broken off her conversation with Spock to glower at one of the young men who’d left off his fight to stride over to Spock. Jim couldn’t really blame the kid, if he didn’t know Spock he would’ve gone cross-eyed at the chance to see a Vulcan fight too. Apparently that wasn’t the most appropriate of responses though, because the young man looked furious, but he turned on his heel and left them to their tour.

 

Near the top of the building there was a relatively small room that reminded Jim of the Academy gardens. The ceiling had been programmed to give off the bright blue of a summer sky, while there were four squares of manicured flowers surrounded by lawn and divided by stone pathways. “This room is a recent addition,” Emorra explained. “When we met with the Federation Ambassador he shared some of the favorite places of his homeworld and we found the concept of serenity in squares fascinating. We took pains to recreate the environment with flora and fauna native of Betazed in an attempt to achieve the same end, so that our visitors from Earth might be comfortable.”

 

Just like he had as a cadet, Jim kicked off his shoes and flopped down on the grass to soak up the sun. Emorra laughed at the serenity pouring off him. “We wished to construct a similar room for our emissaries from Vulcan, but they informed us that the Room of Wind and the Room of Silence would be perfectly adequate to their needs.”

 

“I am certain they did.”

 

“Do you believe this to be true, Commander?”

 

“I believe them to be preferred options considering the circumstances. Should my people once again be prepared for something akin to desert, I am certain you will sense it.”

 

Spock settled down next to Jim’s sprawl, easily coming to rest in the lotus position. Jim quirked an eyebrow, having expected to be pulled along to continue the tour. “I found meditation on the Academy grounds to be a unique experience that I would not be adverse to experiencing once again.”

 

Jim smiled, but settled back onto the grass, closing his eyes and turning his face up to the imaginary sun. It was difficult to meditate with Spock while on the ship. Jim could never really get his mind to quiet when there was a ship to be run. But today he could almost pretend that he was back in San Francisco, no pressure other than finals and nothing weighing on him today. He could imagine that he and Spock were enjoying the sunshine for a few minutes before they went to meet up with their friends and waste away the rest of the weekend.

 

Jim could barely wrap his mind around how awesome it would’ve been to be Spock’s friend at the Academy (though there was plenty of fantasy material to be had in the thought of Professor Spock and Naughty Cadet Kirk). Jim was certain that they would’ve almost killed one another half a dozen times in their first semester, but then winter break would’ve rolled around and they would’ve been the only people not to go home. The only people who had no other place to be. That wouldn’t have made them friends, but it would’ve given them an understanding.

 

As was the natural progression of things, that understanding would’ve blossomed into a tentative alliance the first time some idiot upperclassman got pissed at Spock for being a genius and tried to take it out of his hide by mocking him for being a hybrid. Alliance would’ve turned into actual friendship when Spock interrupted one of the professors waxing quixotic about the death of the great George Kirk. The professor would’ve been pissed enough to spend the rest of the class taking shots at Spock instead, and Jim probably would’ve followed Spock to hell and back for that one.

 

Friendship was just one joint project away from inseparable, and inseparable would’ve meant leaving out of the wretched dorm that Jim and Bones had actually shared the entire time they were at the Academy and instead moving into one of those run-down houses that people shared with their friends. Chekov and Sulu would’ve been on the main floor (the most presentable of the lot that they were), Scotty would’ve been tucked into the basement so he could monitor his still, Bones would’ve taken the room across from Spock on the second floor, the both of them quiet and respectful of one another’s space, while Jim would’ve been restricted to the attic. He wouldn’t have minded that at all, especially since it would end up being nothing more than a closet for his clothes and spare parts since he totally would’ve _de facto_ moved into Spock’s room after the first time they slept…

Holy shit, he would’ve been dating Spock.

 

If he’d met Spock any time prior to two hours before the destruction of his planet, Jim would’ve been sleeping with him. And he wouldn’t have minded.

 

The realization was enough to jolt Jim out of the daydream he’d sunk into. He smashed out of the mellow state, and because today was not complicated enough, he came back to find them both surrounded by Betazoids.

 

More than one _Enterprise_ mission had taken this exact same turn for the slightly stalkery. Most of the Betazoids around them had settled into their own meditative postures, taking up the space immediately around Jim and Spock. They’d all had their own versions of blissed out expressions on their faces, though Jim abruptly breaking out of his meditation had unsettled them enough that most of them were slowly rising from their own thoughts as well. On the outside edge of the room there were more than a few people just watching Jim and Spock with hungry eyes, and that more than anything made Jim adopt the most calm of his awkward grins and nudge Spock. (And when Jim said nudge, he meant ‘kick in the shin’.)

 

Spock came out of his own meditation just as abruptly, but somehow managed to do it with the grace that never ceased to piss Jim off. Spock met Jim’s eyes across the empty space between them, and for one quiet moment Jim felt all the peace that he’d found in the silence before he’d had today’s disturbing little realization. Of course, just like with the meditation, the peace didn’t last long because Spock caught sight of the Betazoids keeping them un-asked-for company.

 

Spock casually raised an eyebrow and looked around the room. To anyone else it might’ve looked like the Vulcan was simply curious about the presence of others, but Jim knew he was counting their potential opponents and scoping out an exit.

 

Emorra was seated on one of the room’s benches, watching the others congregate around Jim and Spock while she kept a careful eye on their mental privacy. Before either man had the chance to ask any questions, she laughed. “You’ll have to forgive them, while I was able to maintain the privacy of Jim’s thoughts, it is almost impossible to conceal the pleasantness of his mental personality. In addition to that, most have of our people have never seen a Vulcan, let alone experienced one meditating before.”

 

Spock’s eyebrow went higher. “And you have had such an opportunity?”

 

“Indeed. I was part of the delegation that met with the Federation Ambassadors. When Ambassador Sarek discovered that we practiced the art of meditation as part of controlling our telepathic gifts, he made it a point of discovering our methods of meditation. It was a fascinating discussion.”

 

Spock tensed at the mention of his father, as he always did. “May I inquire as to why you found it fascinating?”

 

Emorra gave him a gentle smile, like she found Spock’s concern adorable. “Betazoid minds are always emoting. Even in our deepest slumber and purest meditation we are constantly sharing our thoughts and feelings, and embracing the thoughts and feelings of those around us. Ambassador Sarek was… different.”

 

“How so?”

 

“He was filled with deep pain, but he did not emote it. Some of the delegation, they bottled their pain, burying it deep inside where it will fester in dark corners until it consumes them, but Sarek was unique. He allowed himself to experience his emotions, and then released them. They were not purged, but set free. Our people revel in their emotions, it was a distinctive experience in comparison.”

 

Spock gave a slight nod, a peaceful expression settling over his face. Jim smirked back at him; despite Spock’s placid expression Jim knew the Vulcan was proud of his father. What the Betazoids had picked up what exactly what a Vulcan was meant to do with their emotions. “That does not explain why your people are presently clustered around us.”

 

“They were unable to resist the temptation.”

 

“Of the Captain?”

 

“Of you both. Yes, the Captain is free with his vibrant emotions and dynamic mind, but you are also fascinating, Commander.”

 

The tips of Spock’s ears started to tint green, which meant he wasn’t going to ask for an explanation, so Jim did. “The Commander experiences his emotions in much the same way as the Ambassador, releasing them rather than suppressing them. But despite being released, the Commander’s emotions are vibrant and complex in a way that is similar to the most expressive of Humans. To be beside him in meditation is akin to sharing space with the sun.”

 

Jim bumped shoulders with Spock, taking in how the blush had spread down from his ears to highlight his cheekbones. “Yeah, he’s pretty awesome.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was officially time for drinking. Bones took one look at Jim when they got back to the hotel and declared that it was his turn to pick their activity, and he picked alcohol poisoning.

 

The bar was that strange blend of busy but not packed, noisy but not deafening, with dancing but no dance floor. Bones had a gift for finding those places; the unparalleled skill to stand outside a joint and know if it was going to drive him insane. Jim had never understood it, but he’d long since stopped questioning it.

 

Together the six of them settled into an open table. Their waitress brought them the first round of drinks before they’d even ordered, giving Bones a wink and the table an explanation that intuitive drink ordering was one of the perks of a telepathic bartender. Telepaths weren’t terribly fond of the hard stuff, because it made their gifts spiral out of control. So three barely-beers later, just had only the slightest buzz and probably would’ve been able to drive his bike home in a straight line back in Iowa. Spock however, had made it halfway through the Betazoid version of a milkshake before he started to fall out of his chair. (According to Chekov’s tricorder, the local version of ice cream had a similar chemical structure to _theobroma cacao_. Translation: Spock had accidentally gotten drunk off his ass on suped-up chocolate milk.)

 

Around the fourth time Spock nearly slipped off his chair, Jim slung an arm around the Vulcan’s waist and hauled him to his feet. “Alright, time to get some blood back in your head.”

 

Scotty giggled like bastard he was, and Jim tossed the thick Betazoid version of a pretzel at him. “That’s not what I meant!”

 

“Sure it’s not, Jimmy.” Bones gave a pointed look to Jim’s hand, which had somehow slipped down from its entirely respectable position at Spock’s ribs and gone down to cup Spock’s hipbone. Jim absolutely did not squeak, no matter what Bones would later testify. No, he didn’t yelp and drop Spock upon realizing that he’d accidentally been feeling him up two hours after realizing that he may or may not be a little bit strung out on the Vulcan. No, he just manfully tried to give Spock some space. And just because Spock wasn’t quite sober enough to stand on his own and happened to tumble chest to chest with Jim, catching himself by putting one hand to the bare skin of Jim’s waist where his shirt had been rucked up and another to the line of his throat, that didn’t mean anything. And no, Jim didn’t freeze at Spock’s face, flushed green with the heat and the alcohol, so close to his, and _no_ , he didn’t lean in for the kiss.

 

Despite absolutely none of that happening, Chekov did feel the need to call out, “Keptin! Mister Spock! Are vou alright?” Sulu grabbed the little Russian and hauled him back to his seat, hissing something about interrupting, but the moment had been undone. (However, the bartender did punish Chekov by sending him water for the rest of the night.)

 

Rather than glower at the kid for getting in between him and Spock, Jim embraced the happy buzz he’d been carrying around since he realized that it was _going to be_ him and Spock. He laughed at sputtering Chekov, who couldn’t seem to understand what Sulu was scolding him for. Jim dipped his head forward, pressing his forehead to Spock’s before he pulled back and brought the Vulcan with him to the dance floor.

 

Spock stutter-stepped. “Jim, I do not believe this is a wise decision.”

 

“Sure it is, Spock.” Jim gave another tug on Spock’s wrist. “Dancing is fun.”

 

“Your statement arises out of the supposition that Vulcans are capable of fun.”

 

“You find chess fun, Spock. I’m sure you can find dancing fun.”

 

“I do not see the similarity between the two activities.”

 

Jim laughed and yanked Spock forward into his personal space. “They’re all about timing. You can’t just go out swinging and take down every piece on the board, you have to plan for it, think ahead, time your attack. Dancing is the same basic principle.”

 

Jim pulled Spock close, burying his hands in the short hair at the top of Spock’s neck while the Vulcan’s hands naturally found their place low on Jim’s hips. The song had been too fast for the easy sway that Jim was going for, but the second Jim got Spock into position the song changed to something perfect. Jim took the lead, sparing a moment to give the bartender a grateful nod. The rhythm was easy, something close to a waltz but not quite the even measures that they had on Earth. Instead it was syncopated, making it difficult for Jim to keep them on beat.

 

Soon enough Spock did what he always did, and quietly started nudging Jim in the right direction when he couldn’t manage it himself. Spock found the underlying pattern that Jim couldn’t, but more importantly, he pulled Jim close.

 

They stayed like that, from one song to the next and another after that. Not so much dancing as just staying close, breathing one another in. Jim brushed his cheek along Spock’s, pulling back until the corners of their mouths were aligned. All it would take was a twitch from either of them and they would be kissing. They would have that moment that they had been coming to all along, Jim just didn’t realize it.

 

Of course, that was also the moment a Betazed boy came up from behind and tapped Spock on the shoulder. “I would like to dance with Commander Spock.”

 

Jim stared at the kid like there was no way his telepathy could let him think that interrupting at that moment was a good idea. Spock’s stare was possibly even more withering than Jim’s since the thought of Spock dancing with anyone who wasn’t Jim or Uhura—or possibly Chekov if the rest of them gave Spock the ‘this is necessary for his Human development’ look—was ridiculous.

 

The kid however, didn’t seem to get that. He stepped between Spock and Jim like he’d been invited there and only then did Jim realize that this was the same young Betazoid that Emorra had glowered off at the temple. The boy put his hands on Spock’s chest, pushing him back and out of Jim’s space to give the illusion that it was just the two of them and Jim wasn’t really there.

 

Jim was more accepting than most of the stupid life choices of the young, but he wasn’t having it tonight. Jim clapped his hand down on the boy’s shoulder and pulled him back before he got nerve pinched and dropped on his ass. The kid smacked away Jim’s hand and snapped, “The Commander would not damage me in such a way. _I_ would not demean him in an effort to further my own career.”

 

“What?” Jim shouted, his temper bringing on the attention of the rest of the bar.

 

The boy puffed up. “You insulted the Commander’s honored mother so that you could depose him and take his position for yourself.”

 

“And how in the hell do you know about that?”

 

The boy tapped two fingers to Jim’s temple and sneered. “To me your mind is a pathetically open book.”

 

Jim felt a subtle pressure at the inside of his wrist. Jim looked down, and Spock was touching him with two gentle fingers. Jim looked up, and found the Vulcan with his eyes closed and that furrow of concentration he got when the _Enterprise_ needed to defy the laws of physics. Jim was going ask why this dumb kid was enough to cause him the same kind of furrow he got when Scotty had to get them warp four when the engines were disassembled, but he got interrupted by a surging warmth wrapping itself around his soul.

 

(And really, that was the best description for it.)

 

Jim felt safe and treasured, like Spock had taken all his affection for Jim and wrapped him up in it. He grinned at Spock, dopey and overjoyed, only to have the boy snort, “Do you know all the places that hand has been, Commander?”

 

Spock’s content expression melted away into the Vulcan Glare of Death. “I would never deride the Captain for engaging in behavior that I myself have done as well. Nor would I seize upon this information through such a dubious method as violating the sanctity of a psi-null mind.”

 

“Perhaps you should, Spock. Then you would not be wasting your time on a creature so unworthy of your attention.”

 

Despite intense questioning at a later date, Jim would never quite be able to explain what happened next. One minute the Betazed boy was basically calling him trailer trash, and the next the boy was facedown on the bar floor and Jim’s knuckles hurt.

 

Things… just went downhill from there.

 

Two massive bastards who had been lurking at the edge of the dance floor darted up the second the boy hit the ground. They dove for Jim, only to get taken down hard by the superior density of a Vulcan. One struck out at Spock before he could land a nerve pinch, but he didn’t see Bones’s empty bottle of sort-of-scotch coming for the back of his head. More burly Betazeds started pouring out of the woodwork, two coming from the back entrance, another three coming from the street.

 

Scotty was a wily bastard, his mind a whirling dervish of chaos anyway, so the telepaths couldn’t predict him grabbing a stool and cackling at them in Gaelic. After the whole ‘combat training means a katana’ incident, Jim had forced Sulu onto the Security rotation so he’d actually know what to do in a fight without a sword. And Chekov, well Jim’s own fighting skills had come from being too smart for his peer group, so Jim wasn’t too concerned on that front.

 

Between the metal stools and the empty liquor bottles and the poor wait staff providing the subtlest form of aid they could, it was a surprisingly even fight. A least, up until the Betazoid Security Services stormed in and started taking Jim’s Command crew into custody.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“And here we are.” Jim spread his hands wide, like there was nothing more for him to show. “We got tossed in a cell for the rest of the night, and now I’m here with you lovely ladies.”

 

“You assaulted the First Son of the First House of Betazed because you were upset that he attempted to court your First Officer?” Jim could admit that, in general, it wasn’t the most credible of reasons for starting a bar fight. But it was Spock. Spock getting hit on by a kid who liked to call Jim a slut when he was just beginning the relationship that he’d always meant to have.

 

Jim squared his shoulders. “He’s my best friend. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him.”

  
“But was the Commander’s emotional fortitude your only concern?”

 

“Of course not. Your First Son of the First Son flitted through my brain and called me a dirty whore so he could have a better chance to get in Spock’s pants.”

 

There was dead silence for a moment, like none of the judges were entirely sure how to respond to that. Soon enough Bitchy defended the boy. “I believe sexual gratification was a secondary concern. Given the vibrancy of Commander Spock’s mind I believe that the First Son was more concerned with sharing mental space.”

 

“Mental space? You mean a meld? He wanted to meld!”

 

Mercy, who thus far had been the voice of reason, started to laugh. “You are jealous.”

 

Jim flushed red. “No I’m not.”

 

“Lying is not the best approach to communication with us, Captain.”

 

“I’m not jealous. Spock doesn’t meld willy-nilly, he wouldn’t have done it. I’m just territorial. There’s a difference.”

 

“You are concerned with the supposed violation of the sanctity of your mind, not because you are inherently displeased over this, but because the information gained was used in an attempt to damage your relationship with the Commander.” That was uncomfortably close to accurate, so Jim just shrugged.

 

“You are emotionally reliant on the Vulcan.” Bitchy actually sounded surprised.

 

“Well, yeah.” Jim shrugged like it was obvious.

 

“He is a Vulcan. They do not experience emotional bonds with others.”

 

Jim laughed. “You know who Spock’s dad is, right?”

 

“He is the son of Ambassador S’chn T’Gai Sarek of Vulcan.”

 

“And?” Jim paused, waiting for someone to point out the obvious. “You guys know that Sarek’s bondmate and Spock’s mother was a human woman, right?” The utter lack of reaction told Jim pretty much all he needed to know about that. “So, that’s new information then?”

 

“We were aware that Ambassador Sarek’s wife perished in the Destruction of Vulcan, but we were not aware of her species.”

 

“That would explain why you think Vulcans are unable to form emotional attachments then. Though it doesn’t explain why you’re so concerned about my emotional state in regards to Spock.”

 

“Your justification for attacking another being is the emotional wellbeing of a species that claims to have no emotions. Either you are mad for risking yourself in such a manner for a creature that is incapable of returning your affections, or you are a genius for seeing something is their species that we have thus far been unable to confirm.”

 

“I have confirmed it,” a new voice interrupted. “I confirmed their vibrant and pained emotional states the moment that I met with the Vulcan delegation. You simply chose not to believe me.”

 

“Their minds were vaults, High Priestess!” Bitchy snapped back.

 

“They were vaults because you did not bother to peer deeper, or to ask questions that might inspire emotion in them.” Jim could feel the glower that silenced Bitchy from any further commentary. “Perhaps we should ask Commander Spock.”

 

 There was no auditory signal to suggest that someone had been sent to get Spock, but the expectant silence in the room suggested it. Jim fought the urge to whistle to fill up the silence. All too soon Spock stepped into the room, the tension in his shoulders released at the sight of Jim whole and healthy. Before Spock could find a snooty way to ask why they were all still in custody, one of the Judges stepped off the rim meant to ensure their anonymity.

 

It was Emorra.

 

She wasn’t Mercy or Bitchy; Jim would’ve recognized her voice long before then. No, she was the “High Priestess” that Bitchy had been arguing with. Jim dropped into a respectful bow, and half a beat later Spock followed his lead.

 

Emorra ignored Jim and came to a stop a few bare inches before Spock. The Vulcan’s eyebrow shot up and Jim was pretty sure there was a conversation here he was being excluded from. And judging by the way Spock’s ears were steadily getting greener, it was a conversation he wanted to be a part of. Jim reached out and pressed two fingers to the inside of Spock’s wrist, just like Spock had done for him last night.

 

Spock started, breaking off his staring contest to look down at Jim’s fingers with the most surprise that Jim had ever seen on his face. His head popped up with none of the grace that usually typified his movements. Whatever Emorra was looking for, that was enough. She called out her finding of not guilty, echoed by the other judges, but Jim was too busy brushing his fingertips along the inside of Spock’s wrist to care.

* * *

 

 

Jim peeked his head around the door into Spock’s quarters. It was hard to sneak when the door swished open at his presence. Spock was meditating, something he’d done a lot of in between the lectures they’d received from the Admiralty on appropriate relationships with telepathic species. (Considering that Betazed had decided to join the Federation after loafing around in Spock’s brain, Jim figured they were actually a little pissed that no one had found them interesting enough to be the trigger.) Either way, Jim and Spock had changed the future course of the Federation while they were on _shore leave_ , so he figured it was another of those things the Admiralty could be pissed about but couldn’t really scold them for.

 

“Is it your intention to lurk in the doorway for a significant period of time, Jim?” Spock teased, and something unclenched in Jim’s chest.

 

“If it is?”

 

“I would have to ask that you allow the door to close and lurk from inside the frame. You are allowing the warm air of my living space to retreat into the hall.”

 

The _Enterprise_ was a smart enough ship to keep Spock in perfect Vulcan norm temperatures wherever he walked throughout the day, but since Spock was asking Jim to step inside, he didn’t call him on it. Jim settled down in the not-quite-lotus that he always donned when he tried to join Spock for meditation. He wriggled a little to settle in, and tried to release his mind the way Spock had taught. Jim usually only managed to actually meditate one time out of ten, and this time he couldn’t seem to make his mind stop obsessing that Spock was _right there_ , sitting across from him, and if Jim just leaned forward (awkwardly, but still) he would be able to kiss him.

 

It was difficult to meditate when you weren’t so much thinking about not thinking as you were thinking about Spock’s lips.

 

It took Jim a long moment to pull his eyes up from Spock’s lips and realize that Spock was watching him stare. “Uh,” Jim mumbled out, licking his lips while he struggled to come up with an entirely plausible reason for gawking. Thankfully, Spock wasn’t so much watching Jim, as much as he was watching Jim’s lips.

 

Now, Jim Kirk liked to think he was a good person, but there was only so much a man could take.

 

He lurched forward, dropping his hands to the floor at Spock’s hips and kissed Spock with more fervor than finesse. Within two seconds Spock had gentled the exchange, evening out Jim’s frantic pressure. Jim wasn’t having that. He nipped Spock’s bottom lip and pushed forward to throw him off balance. Jim could almost feel the grin against his lips before Spock used Jim’s momentum to flip him over.

 

There was a moment when Jim tensed, nervous that Spock would come to his senses and say it had all been nothing more than shore leave. Spock’s eyes softened and he brushed two fingers across Jim’s forehead, then down over his temple. “What did you tell Emorra?”

 

“I declined to share any information with her.” Spock ran his fingers across Jim’s cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, completing the circuit.

 

“Alright, what did she get from you that suddenly made them alright with Vulcans?”

 

Spock cupped Jim’s cheek and pulled him in for another kiss. He pulled back slightly so his lips still brushed across Jim’s, “I said nothing, but, my emotion for you was too strong to be contained by my shields.”


End file.
